Their wills met in their eyes, and the man's, masculine and dominant, won the battle. The long fringe of hers fell to the soft cheeks.
“It won't be at all necessary,” she promised.
“Are you sure?”
“Quite sure.”
“That's the way to talk.”
“If you care to know,” she boiled over, “I think you the most hateful man I ever met.”
“That's all right,” he grinned ruefully. “You're the most contrary woman I ever bumped into, so I reckon honors are easy.”
He strode along beside the horse, mile after mile, in a silence which neither of them cared to break. The sap of youth flowed free in him, was in his elastic tread, in the set of his broad shoulders, in the carriage of his small, well-shaped head. He was as lean-loined and lithe as a panther, and his stride ate up the miles as easily.
They nooned at a spring in the dry wash of Bronco Creek. After he had unsaddled and picketed he condescended to explain to her.
“We'll stay here three hours or mebbe four through the heat of the day.”